Tourniquet
by AerrowLover
Summary: Three weeks have passed since Sam's swan dive, and it's not getting any easier for Dean. Maybe a visit from a friend will help. 'For a friend with an understanding heart can be quite as dear as a brother', but the question is - is he? AU.


**Author's Note: Greetings my darlings! Well, I've been busy – exams, coursework, and the general mayhem that is school life… But have a one-shot. Go on – spoil yourself. (It's AU, set right after season five. What's not to love?)**

**Dedicated to my lovely Wicked Freakin Witch. Just to make her smile. :D**

**Warning: Contains angst and swearing. Surprisingly, no violence. Bar a teeny head bang. Honest.**

**Disclaimer: As always, I do not own Supernatural. Not even a teeny knife or weeny gun. If I did, well… Life would be good.**

* * *

'_And they, since they  
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.'  
"Out, Out-", Robert Frost_

* * *

It had been three weeks.

Three weeks since Sam had completed the swan dive and leapt into the Pit, carrying one passenger – Lucifer himself. Three weeks since Earth had escaped Apocalypse Now. Three weeks since he had driven in despair towards Lisa and had been taken in. He had been at her house with her and her son, Ben, ever since.

It had been three weeks since his heart had been broken. His little, baby brother. His Sammy. He was gone. Hell only knew where he was and what was being done to him. The very thought made him hopelessly close his eyes.

Dean would never forgive himself for failing in his mission. The mission that he had had since childhood, ever since a baby Sam had been thrust into his arms by their frantic father as their house – and their world – burned. Dean may have lost his childhood that night as well as his mother, but he had made sure he had always been there for his younger brother. He had looked after Sammy, whether it had been in school, or on a hunt. Or from the black rages their father sometime found fit to dwell in from time to time. Dean had looked after Sam for so long, but… But now he had failed. He had let his brother give himself up to stop the end of the world.

And now here he was, reaping the reward. Sitting in Lisa's garage after mowing the grass on a bright, sunny day. His brother could be being tortured to within an inch of his life – Dean knew all too well about that – and here he was, acting like a normal and regular family man. It made him sick.

"Selfish bastard," he muttered brokenly, glancing out into the sunlight –

_Sam could be in the very depths of Hell. Alone and terrified in the dark. Bloody and desperate. Begging for mercy that would never come. Screaming for Dean to please, please come and save him, please big brother –_

"Selfish, selfish _bastard_." Dean whispered harshly, tearing his gaze from the sun to back within the garage.

Or perhaps Sam was dead. The thought chilled him to the bone, made him want to shake. It was possible. His brother could be dead and yet… He was basking in the sunlight. Not for the first time Dean wished he could have stopped Sam or made him change his mind. But instead he had let him go and was living a life he had never dreamed of having.

Yes, Sam had made him promise to live like this. But how dare he do so. And how dare he use such an excuse to live so comfortably. After all, when he himself had gone to Hell, Sam had spent so long trying to do everything he could to get Dean back – he had killed Crossroad demons, for crying out loud! But here was Dean, just sitting on his ass.

"_Sam, it's okay. I'm here, I'm not gonna leave you. I'm not gonna leave you."_

He was so angry at himself. But so depressed about the whole mess too. Why was it always him and his brother who had to suffer for everyone else? They had been tormented by Hell and forced to dance to Heaven's every whimsy tune. Why them?

"It's not fair!" Dean growled, kicking the lawnmower back to its place with more violence that what would have been deemed necessary. He knew he was riding the self-pity train; knew it was weak to do so but he just couldn't…Accept this. All of it. Anyway of it. So he sent another kick to the lawnmower. Then another. And then another and another and another and –

"So I arrive in time to witness a temper tantrum. Wishes really do come true."

Dean froze, his foot comically halted in mid-air. He recognised that voice, that _accent_…

"The amount of self-pity in this room should warrant you a suicide watch, Winchester. Good thing I turned up," the voice continued, a hint of amusement laced through the words. Dean turned around to have his eyes greeted by the sight of a smirking demon, the self-styled 'King of the Crossroads'. The oldest Winchester glared, wishing he could reach for his knife and get ready to use it. But he had stopped carrying it around with him, oh so soon after…What had happened. Instead, Dean clenched his fists and took a step forward, standing his ground. The demon chuckled, obviously well aware that Dean could do him no harm.

"Why are you here, Crowley?" Dean spat, but even to his own ears he could hear the tiredness and half-heartedness. To his surprise, Crowley's eyes, normally sparkling with a unique brand of malevolence and benevolence, seemed to now hold something akin to…Sympathy? Dean snorted. As if that was even possible. Like a demon could actually feel that. "I asked you a question." He continued angrily, trying to maintain his façade of the badass hunter. But it was difficult. Cracks were bound to be showing even as Dean struggled to hide them. Judging by the look that Crowley wore, Dean wasn't doing a great job.

The suave demon looked around the garage before his eyes fell back on the ex-hunter. "I was… Bored. Decided to pay you a little impromptu visit." He tucked his hands into his deep coat pockets, while Dean faintly wondered how the demon wore that coat on a day like today. "Like I mentioned before, I'm glad I did. You're certainly," here he pursed his lips, "having fun."

Dean swore, "Listen demon." His voice deepened with his barely-contained rage, "I am not in the mood. Clear off." Seeing that Crowley merely rolled his eyes, the ex-hunter continued. "You know, it's alright for you. These past three weeks must've been great. No old boss huntin' you down. Well, congrats on that! I've lost my brother!" Dean blinked furiously. "Do you understand what that's like, you son of a bitch? My brother is gone. And it's my fault 'cause I did nothin' to help him!" It wasn't until he had finished that Dean realised he had been shouting and was now breathless.

Crowley just stood there, his face a perfect, blank mask. Dean inhaled with a ragged gasp, placing a shaking hand to his head. He had meant every word that had poured so desperately from his mouth. But it was, of course, all wasted on that demon, he thought angrily. Like he cared. As if he could even care.

"Always painting us with the same brush, Dean." Crowley's smooth voice broke the silence that had fallen after the eldest Winchester's outburst. "You really shouldn't make such sweeping assumptions, you know."

"What do you mean?" Dean snapped, collapsing onto a box to his right. All the fight had deserted him and now he just felt hollow. And exhausted. Always exhausted. It hadn't escaped his notice, however, that Crowley had called him by his name for once.

"What I mean is, simply _don't _paint us all with the same brush." Crowley's eyes glittered as he took a step forward. Dean tiredly wondered about painting a Devil's Trap as soon as he was alone again.

"By 'us' I'm guessing you mean demons."

"Ten out of ten and top of the class." Crowley muttered dryly, but the bite seemed to have vanished from his words, too. Dean looked at the demon, the one who had helped himself and Sam on several occasions. Even now he wasn't too sure about him.

There was another round of silence before Dean decided to speak. The thought had been nagging him for some time. Might as well ask about it now, he thought.

"So, what side you swingin' for now?"

The Crossroads demon tilted his head to one side, considering. "I thought you were no longer involved in your hunting, Winchester. Thus I deem it none of your business." He actually sounded polite, and even apologetic, not at all what Dean had been expecting.

"Fair enough, I suppose." The ex-hunter shrugged, idly fixing the buttons on his shirt sleeves. Hunting had led him here, had ripped Sammy away from him. Dean had, in return, turned his back on it. Crowley could be planning a mass war but he really couldn't get a damn. Saving the World came with too high a price to pay. It had been a harsh lesson to learn.

The demon snorted quietly. "Believe me, I won't be involved in another war anytime soon." Normally Dean would have kicked up a storm at the demon for rummaging around in his head so merrily, but now he settled on a weak glare that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

"Good. Glad to hear it." The eldest Winchester muttered sarcastically to himself.

"You have a home now, of sorts." The Crossroads demon's comment certainly wasn't expected. He sounded rather off-handed, and Dean looked up at him warily.

"I guess. I mean, yeah."

"With a woman and her son, yes?" the demon continued. He looked over his shoulder to the view of Lisa's house, before glancing back at Dean. "They're both in there now. She's worried about you."

"Don't you think about even _lookin' _at them-" Dean started, coiled and ready to spring, but he was cut off. The demon was staring at him.

"I wasn't…" Crowley sounded genuinely offended. The eldest Winchester looked surprised at the reaction that his comment had provoked. He shook his head slowly.

"You're different." He stated, looking the demon right in the eye. Crowley snorted again, his resident smirk playing about his lips.

"This coming from the man who was a hunter, now playing happy families?" he whistled low, "You are certainly different yourself, Dean."

"No, there's something different about you." Dean frowned, rubbing a hand through his hair absentmindedly. "The Crowley I knew-"

"I don't know what to be more offended about. The fact that you refer to me in the past tense, or that you believe I would stoop so low as to 'know' you in the biblical sense!" Crowley grinned widely, while Dean just rolled his eyes, ignored _that_ comment and made himself continue.

"The Crowley I knew," here he paused to throw the demon a look to ensure he wouldn't interrupt again, "would have shouted at me by now. Or threatened me with torture or murder. Quite possibly both."

"Oh, is _that _what you want, Winchester?" before Dean could even blink, Crowley was next to him, his dark eyes blazing and his voice dangerously low. "Is _that _what you need to snap out of it?"

Dean could feel his old hunter's instinct screaming at him – after all, Crowley was a powerful demon – but he ignored it. Maybe the pain Crowley could inflict would make him feel something instead of this emptiness, this barren wasteland that he was carrying around all the time. Maybe he could even die – here a pathetic smile plastered across his face at the thought – and then he would not have to be tormented by memories and guilt and regret and rage and darkness and –

Crowley swore violently, and the next thing Dean knew was that he was being flung towards the nearest garage wall. He crashed into it, yelling in pain, before sliding down. Weakly picking his head up, the ex-hunter felt blood trickle down his face. He looked blearily ahead to see a very irate Crowley towering over him.

"This," Crowley flung his arms out and gestured around them, "and your little bouts of the pity party are _pathetic_. Right now, everything in me is screaming to beat you senseless. To cover you in your own blood." As he dropped down to Dean's spot on the floor, the demon's voice dropped to a terrifying whisper.

"I could break every bone in your body without even touching you. I could easily carve you up like a turkey. I could even tear you to bloody ribbons. But you know what, Winchester?" the demon glared. "I won't." Dean could groggily see that Crowley was visibly fighting to keep his demonic instinct under control and it intrigued him. Everything that was going on right now did. He placed a hand against the deep and bleeding gash on his forehead with a wince.

"You…Won't?" he asked, puzzled. Crowley looked at him with an intimidating expression as he neatly got to his feet.

"No. I won't." He answered curtly. Clearly he was still furious, judging by how harshly he began to brush down his coat. Dean wanted to question him further but instead got to his feet, holding the wall for support as he straightened up unsteadily.

"This doesn't help you with the whole trust thing, you know." Dean remarked wryly. Crowley glanced at him, but didn't respond. His hands were no longer in his coat pockets but were instead folded across his chest as he leant against the drop-cloth covered Impala. Dean ignored the tug on his heart as he caught sight of a faint outline of his baby. "You still have Bobby's soul," he continued, forcing himself to think in the here and now, "that's another reason not to trust you." He gingerly made his way back towards the box he had been sitting on. But even as dazed as he was, he still caught sight of the flinch that shook the demon's frame.

"Bloody thing, that," Crowley muttered furiously, looking anywhere but at the oldest Winchester, "more trouble than what it's worth…"

Dean looked at the Crossroads demon, thinking rapidly. "What do you mean? What did you do?" his dark-green eyes narrowed accusingly.

"What have _I _done?" Crowley looked outraged, "_I_ have done nothing! It was…That bloody soul…" His voice trailed off. Clearly he was unwilling to elaborate further but this just increased Dean's curiosity.

"It's done something to you?" Dean guessed, and then grinned in triumph at the expression on the Crossroads demon's face. Bulls eye indeed. "What has it done? It's only a soul; it can't have made you human after all!" Crowley flinched again, and Dean stopped laughing, mouth agape. "You're not… It can't be-"

"Of course not, you utter moron." Crowley snapped, but Dean suddenly caught a sight of how similarly exhausted the demon looked. Dean could recognise that look anywhere. He saw it in his reflection every morning after waking up. "Mercifully you are wrong, Winchester!" Crowley shook his head, but it was obvious that there was more to it than that. Dean waited for the unwilling demon to finish.

"But?" He prompted with a spidery smirk as he could see that no comment seemed forthcoming. Crowley glared at him, and then suddenly everything fell into place. Finally it all started to make some sense.

"Emotions. You have, and can _feel_, human emotions." Dean breathed, watching as the King of the Crossroads didn't deny the remark. Now it was Dean's turn to whistle as he queried, "how can that even be?"

"I kept the imprint of the soul on me," Crowley's voice sounded tired and hollow, "after all, Hell was a no-go area. My house had been destroyed, I was on the run. There was nowhere else to put it, but on my person." The demon looked straight ahead, lost in his thoughts. "I didn't notice anything had actually changed, not until recently. Then suddenly – I was _plagued_. Guilt. Remorse. Despair. Sorrow. Things I have not felt for _years_." Crowley looked pained, his eyes haunted.

"It was…Agony. That amount of emotion that had been suppressed for so long – it tortures me. And since it is not my soul, I get to experience every little high and low of Bobby Singer's life!" he shouted, fixing his gaze on Dean. He pointed at the ex-hunter accusingly. "And you! Bobby loves you like a son – Beats me why – and I can feel what he feels right now! He's bloody worried about you! And it was causing me so much pain I had to come here!"

"'Cause if you could make me get over…Sam… I could go 'round to Bobby's and then he would feel better. You wouldn't be affected anymore." Dean said, shaking his head in disbelief. "This sounds crazy, but…Somehow I believe it." The expression Crowley wore was too damn realistic to be fake; Dean knew that all too well. He rubbed his eyes, before sparing the demon a glance. It all sounded like total bull, but Dean could believe it. Crowley really did look pained, and it made sense, all that he had said. All those emotions being slammed into you, especially after such a long time… Dean shook his head again, wincing slightly as the movement made the bloody gash buzz with pain. Clamping a hand over it, he wondered just how he was going to explain this to Lisa. 'I was leaving the lawnmower away when a demon that apparently can experience human feelings attacked me 'cause I pretty much asked for it?' Dean snorted quietly. Yeah, like that would work. Lisa did believe in the supernatural, care of a first-hand experience but this would be too much.

"If you think it sounds crazy, try actually being in my shoes." Crowley muttered, massaging his temples with closed eyes. "Every little soul I took, or person I killed, is making me pay. And don't even get me started on the torturing."

Dean just nodded warily. He didn't really know what the demon was capable of, but he himself had tortured many during his stint in Hell. There were still nightmares about that time, and he was always haunted after them with images of what he had done. Hell knows then what Crowley would be going through. Dean didn't want to know. A thought suddenly struck him.

"How do you get by then?" he questioned the demon, who still had his eyes closed. "I mean, you're still a demon, right? So how do you work?" Dean waited, and just when it seemed that Crowley was not going to reply, he opened his eyes with an annoyed sigh.

"We've covered this. My business is none of your concern," he paused, and then rolled his eyes. "But, strictly between you and I, it's sheer bloody difficult."

The ex-hunter raised his eyebrows. "But how-"

"Do I work then?" the demon chuckled, but it sounded bitter. "I can do whatever I want to. I could go and kill your neighbours from across the street. I could get your bird to sell me her soul for her son's protection. All that, just for starters. But," he sighed again, shaking his head wearily, "Then I just feel so damn _guilty_. And bloody miserable." The King of the Crossroads stuck his hands into his pockets once more, looking thoroughly murderous. "It means that overall; I'm royally stuffed in my profession."

"So, Hell did take you back." Dean muttered, watching a lone blood drop trickle down his wrist. Well, it made sense: Crowley had only been forced to flee because of betraying Lucifer, who wasn't around anymore – Don't think of Sam, don't think of Sam, Dean chanted – hence Crowley was free to return. The eldest Winchester didn't know why that bothered him so much. A demon's a demon, right? He must be getting soft. "Surely all your little black-eyed playmates can tell you're different?"

Crowley gave him a look that would have made anyone else run for the hills. "Once again, you thick moron, my business is just that. _Mine_. But… Since I'm feeling generous, and I know you won't shut up otherwise, I'll answer." His eyes darkened. "They don't know. After all, it's not as if I have my own soul or anything…" He trailed off, sounding surprisingly vulnerable. "It's a weakness, really. Having emotions. _Feeling_." Crowley shrugged, making the movement seem effortlessly fluid.

"It's not a weakness!" Dean exclaimed. He knew he was supposed to trot out some clichés and praise humanity for all its flaws and imperfections and then round it off by saying being human was amazing. But how could he? He didn't believe having emotions was incredible. He longed for someone to take it away, for then he couldn't think about his baby brother. It hurt so much, so _damn much_. So instead of elaborating on his point to the self-style King of the Crossroads, Dean fell silent and was consumed by his own thoughts. He had a vague suspicion that Crowley would probably have a peek at them too, but he was too tired to tell him off. He hung his head.

"_If you hurt my brother, I'll kill you, I swear. I'll kill you all. I will kill you all!"_

"…_but you know what … I'm gonna be the one to bury you, Sam!"_

"I had a family, you know." The words seemed to tumble out of the demon's mouth, and Dean looked up at the supernatural being in surprise. Crowley seemed cross and annoyed at himself, but nevertheless kept talking hesitantly. "My father died, when I was little. My mother raised me." The demon appeared to be picking his words with care, as if he was uncertain about what he was saying. He probably was, Dean thought sadly. When Hell strips you of your humanity, it steals your memories, too.

_[So not only had it taken Sammy away from him physically, it would take him from Dean mentally, too, when it removed any memories Sam had of his older brother_.]

And Crowley had been a demon for a long, long time, Dean guessed. Seeing that the demon in question had since fallen silent, the ex-hunter prompted him again with another question.

"Did you have a wife? Any kids?" he didn't know why, but he felt a drop of pity for the demon as it clearly struggled to recall the answers.

"I…Think so. She had…Red hair, I think." Crowley suddenly seemed ancient with world weariness. "I… I can't remember anything about my children." Crowley looked heartbroken and it was such an unexpected sight that Dean opened his mouth to say something, _anything_. But the demon got there first.

"This bloody soul! Look at me – I'm being reduced to a sodding pansy! Bloody hell, when I next see Singer I am going to boot him up the arse for this!" he shouted, his dark eyes glittering with deadly rage.

"It's hardly his fault!" Dean retorted, rolling his eyes in frustration as Crowley continued to mutter angrily to himself. "That's what you get, when you have actual feelings! Welcome to the World." Dean couldn't resist chipping in.

"It's pathetic. And weak. And pathetic." The demon muttered again, apparently eager to emphasise 'pathetic'. He frowned. "Demons shouldn't be like this!" His eyes suddenly flickered to a deep and burning white before resuming their normal dark-brown hue.

"You makin' sure you're still all demonised? 'Cause I think it's safe to say you are." Dean remarked wryly, a thin smirk spreading across his face. Crowley threw him a poisonous glare. Dean just laughed lightly however, before removing his hand to see if his forehead was still bleeding. It was, but it was less than what it had been previously. "I think it's quite ironic, really. Thing that steals souls gets landed with one. Sorta. Still, you know what I mean." The eldest Winchester laughed again.

"Get bent, Winchester." Crowley hissed, making his way towards the garage door. "I'm not staying around to have jokes made at my expense."

"Oh, Mr. High and Mighty, you do it to Sam and I all the time! Taste of your own medicine required!" Dean grinned, but froze as he realised what he had just said.

Because Sammy was gone. There was no longer a 'Sam and I'; all there was… Was past tense. And him. Just him. Dean. Alone.

Dean bit his lip fiercely, but nothing could stop the lump that had appeared in his throat from getting bigger, or the tears that were steadily streaking down his face from falling faster. He placed his head in his hands, shoulders beginning to shake violently. After a moment, Dean looked up to see that Crowley had suddenly popped up beside him. The demon looked decidedly uncomfortable, but a tad curious, too.

"You're crying." Crowley murmured, sounding faintly shocked.

"No shit, Sherlock." Dean mumbled, frantically scrubbing at his eyes. "Newsflash – that's what happens when you're upset. You cry 'cause your heart is breaking. 'Cause you feel empty, and you're _overwhelmed_ with pain." He sobbed uncontrollably, his tangled mind filled with images of his brother – Sammy as a baby, when he had gone to school, during hunts, with Jess, dying as he was cradled in Dean's arms, laughing, crying, shouting, pulling his bitchface… And then, finally, taking that leap of faith whilst holding back Lucifer. Dean sobbed, because now all he had were those images; those memories. And they were hardly enough for him.

Yet he was jerked out of this when Crowley suddenly and very gently touched Dean's cheek with a smooth finger.

"What the hell-"

"I never really understood tears," the demon informed the ex-hunter rather conversationally, balancing the glittering drop on his finger with interest, "always, people would cry when I went to collect what I was owed. Or they would weep and beg for mercy in Hell." The King of the Crossroads smiled craftily at the oldest Winchester. "It never moved me. Annoyed me, actually. But it feels different now." He watched as the tiny teardrop dripped off his finger and fell towards the cold ground. Crowley sighed. "I don't like it. It…Hurts. Your description is correct in that aspect."

Dean just nodded, feeling numb. He had stopped crying – only a few little sobs still shook his frame – and his face was now dry but he felt miserable. He dragged a hand through his hair, causing it to travel wildly in all available directions. He glanced at the demon, who was regarding him with a critical eye, his shoulders stiff.

"You miss him." Crowley offered as an observation. Dean sniffed, blinking like mad.

"Of course I do. Every day. He may have done some stupid things, but he was my baby brother and I loved him." Dean choked out, closing his eyes in pain. "And now he's gone." He sighed, forlorn.

"But not dead." The Crossroads demon's voice was soft and whispered and Dean snapped his head up so quickly he was surprised he didn't break his neck.

"He's alive?" He breathed, heart thudding. If Sam was alive, that meant he wasn't in Hell. He could still be its prisoner, but there was a chance he could be brought back. "Sam is alive? Are you sure?" Dean knew he must sound like a desperate man clutching at straws, but he didn't care.

Crowley's lips were pressed into a thin line and his eyes had darkened again. He didn't seem too happy with himself. "Yes. Sam is alive." With the way that he spoke, words that should have been positive, a cause for celebration, were made out to be anything but. It all seemed very ominous and the ex-hunter began to wonder.

"How do you know?" Dean's eyes hardened and narrowed in suspicion. "Is he bein' tortured? Tell me!" He slammed his fist down against the box he was sitting on; ignoring the throb of pain the action caused him. He would gladly suffer any amount of pain just to get his brother back.

"I've already told you more than enough!" Crowley snapped, brushing down his coat. He shook his head rapidly, clearly agitated. "You ask too many questions and expect me to jump at your bloody beck and call to answer them, Dean! Can you not be content with the knowledge that your brother is not dead?" If Dean didn't know any better, he would have sworn that the demon was close to pleading with him. But he shook his hand.

"This is my _brother_ we're talking about! I need to know what is being done to him!" Dean shouted, throwing his arms out wide. "I _need_ to know. Please. Just…Please." His voice, already cracking, broke at the end of his sentence. The demon looked pained.

"I can't," he said hoarsely, shaking his head again, but this time more determinedly. "I _can't_." Dean watched as the demon held his head in his hands for a moment.

"Why?" the ex-hunter asked flatly, the feeling of numbness threatening to overwhelm him yet again. He was so close, but yet so damn far. "Why?"

"Souls make you feel emotions. We demons see it as a weakness." Crowley muttered tiredly, glancing at the eldest Winchester through his fingers. Dean was about to ask what the hell this had to do with anything when the demon shot him a look. "I'm explaining why, moron. Just wait!" he dropped his hands gracefully, "humans need their souls; their emotions. It's what makes you…Human." His dark eyes looked haunted and stood out in his face. "I have now realised that."

"I don't get it-"

"Humans _need_ their souls." Crowley repeated, this time gazing at Dean with something strangely akin to sympathy. The demon sighed as Dean began to slowly shake his head. Outside, the sun was still shining but the garage somehow felt colder.

"I don't get it, Crowley." The ex-hunter looked older and drained, a man who has seen too much and longs to be rid of his knowledge. Picking himself up, he glanced across to look over at Lisa's house. There was a moment of silence.

"She is worried about you." Crowley paused, "And what to make you and her son for dinner." A small smile flittered briefly over Dean's tired face. That was Lisa, all right. "Her son thinks you are, and I quote, 'cool'," Crowley sounded disgusted, "what an ignorant child." This time Dean laughed.

"Ben is clearly a _smart_ kid if he thinks like that." Dean laughed again at the expression on the demon's face, "well, _I_ think he is -"

"I…I put out an order. No demon will harm them, or you. Not if they want to live."

Dean looked at the Crossroads demon in amazement. He seemed sincere about what he had just said and for a moment the eldest Winchester was at a loss of words. It was all very unexpected, to say the least. He cleared his throat, feeling more than a bit awkward.

"Thank you." He said simply, and the demon inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Don't think it's all about you. If anything happened to you, Winchester, Singer would just about drive me to suicide with his feelings." Crowley said dryly, causing Dean to burst out laughing. It sounded a little bit hysterical, but both of them ignored that element.

"And we can't have that, can we?" the ex-hunter stretched, holding back a yawn. Crowley snorted.

"Hilarious," he paused, as if he had heard something that Dean could not, "I better go. Work calls. Places to go, people to see, and all that jazz." The demon stopped, considering. Dean stared at him, and for a second dark brown met emerald green. "Dean, keep the promise you made to your brother," Crowley murmured, his accent no longer sounding threatening, but actually a tad comforting. "Have a life, be happy."

"Crowley-" Dean started, but was interrupted yet again by the demon.

"And for the record, tell anyone about _any_ part of our conversation and I'll make you pay." The demon's eyes sparkled once again with his unique blend of malevolence and benevolence. It didn't escape Dean's notice that Crowley sounded as if he were only half-joking. "I do have a reputation, after all."

Dean chuckled, and nodded once. "Fine. But wouldn't you rather let the world know you've a heart?" Well. He couldn't resist that one.

"Get bent, Winchester." Crowley muttered, looking decidedly unimpressed. Dean laughed again while Crowley rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Like I said, taste of your own medicine!" Dean chuckled, bending down to pick up keys which had managed to have fallen out of his pocket. He waited, and then he shook his head in amusement. "You've just vanished, haven't you?"

And sure enough, when he looked around, there was no sign of the Crossroads demon.

* * *

Dinner had come and gone, and Lisa was taking Ben around to a friend's house for a birthday party. Dean had volunteered to stay behind and wash the dishes, maybe even tidy up the kitchen, too. That had certainly made Lisa giggle, and she had decided to name him 'Man of the Month'. Sam would have laughed his head off if he had heard that new nickname, Dean reflected somewhat sadly.

He was halfway through the dishes now, and was taking his time. It was oddly soothing, quite relaxing almost. It allowed him to keep his hands occupied whilst his mind could drift away. Dean allowed himself to become immersed in his thoughts as the kitchen clock chimed away in the background.

It had been an unusual day, to say in the least. Dean found himself shaking his head with a faint smirk. Crowley turning up, discovering that the demon actually had feelings now and then uncovering that… Sam was alive. That was the biggest shock of them all.

His baby brother was alive and out there somewhere. Dean looked up from the sink and looked out of the kitchen window into the distance. Out there somewhere, Sammy was alive. The ex-hunter's eyes narrowed. He needed to find out more about that; how he could track his little brother down. It had been three long, pain-filled weeks since that eventful day, and every day since then he had gone about believing that Sam was dead, or being subjected to the worst tortures imaginable in Hell. Every night he would have nightmares which forced him to wake up in a cold sweat, gasping and sobbing.

But that could all be over him now. It could change. Sam was _alive._ Dean couldn't say or think those words enough.

"Sammy's alive…" He murmured, savouring the words. His heart seemed to swell joyfully at the news, and Dean allowed himself to laugh out loud in sheer relief. "Sammy's freakin' _alive_!" He glanced down at his soapy hands and laughed again. Suddenly the World seemed a beautiful place, the sun couldn't shine brightly enough and the birds couldn't swing loudly or sweetly enough.

It just seemed rather ironic that such good news had been given to him via a demon of Hell, Dean thought with a wry smile. And also that he had been given a lecture on emotions by said demon. But he certainly wasn't going to complain about that. Not now, and not ever. Crowley's news had made him feel like a new man, as if all the pain and suffering that he had been cocooned in and chained to had simply…Melted away. How Dean longed to just drop everything and begin searching for his brother. He didn't care how long it would take, how far he would have to travel, how much it would cost. Sam meant everything to him, and was everything. His baby brother. The one he had practically raised and cared for all his life. If he was out there, Dean would find him.

But… Dean sighed, gently placing another few dishes away. He had made a promise to Sam. He wanted to keep his word to his brother, no matter how hard that was. He desperately wished he could break it, but he had _promised_. Sam had wanted him to live with Lisa and Ben and have a happy little family life, the one that they had never had.

The eldest Winchester's heart felt as if it was being torn in two. What was he supposed to do now? He glanced outside again, as the clock echoed throughout the kitchen. He sighed again, shaking his head.

"Sammy, I'll never leave you," he whispered brokenly, "but I made you a promise, bro. I can't break that, either." He looked at his surroundings and began to dry his hands, pulling his shirt sleeves down his arms. "I'll stay here, but I'm staying with you, too." He paused, before laughing suddenly. Jeesh, what a cliché. Sam would love that. "Sorry, Sammy. I forgot about our no chick flick moments." He laughed again, shaking his head ruefully as he strode towards Lisa's living room. Picking up his jacket, he dug around in one of the pockets before unearthing his mobile phone. He grinned. "I have a call to make, I guess."

He searched frantically through his address book, feeling a guilty pang as he realised how long it had been since he had last done this, before quickly clicking on a number. Pressing the mobile up to his ear, he heard several shrill rings and then a hoarse growl of an answer.

"Yeah? If this is you, Rufus, I'm darn busy here and ain't got the time-"

"Bobby," Dean closed his eyes at the familiar voice, "it's me. It's Dean." There was a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the phone as the old hunter listened, hardly believing what he was hearing.

"Dean? Boy, where the hell have you been that you ain't been ringin'? Or 'round here?" Bobby barked, sounding angry. But Dean knew that the old hunter was just telling him, in his own way, how concerned he had been and now how happy he was. "What made you change your mind, boy?"

Dean laughed. "Bobby, believe me when I say that I got _a lot_ to tell you about..."

* * *

"_Hey, Dean?"_

"_Yeah?"_

_"Do demons ever tell you the truth?" _

_"…I guess. When they know it'll mess with your head…"_

* * *

Somewhere, a demon laughed.

* * *

_[For a friend with an understanding heart can be quite as dear as a brother]_

**And scene, people. **

**The above quote is taken from Homer's 'The Odyssey', chapter eight, line 584. I started reading it again recently and then when I read that line, I knew I had to use it here. And I've thrown in various quotes from different seasons in, too. I had too much free time on the laptop last night, you see.**

**I'm not going to analyse this to death (I've already analysed enough this week - had an English Literature mock exam) but all I shall say is that I wrote this to be deliberately vague. You can take whatever you want from it. If you want to see slash, then pop on your slash-tinted glasses, for example. Was Crowley lying the whole time, putting on an act and being your typical demon? Or was he actually telling the truth? *shrug* It's all up to you, darlings.**

**Hopefully Bobby likes this, and now I can go and scribble some Inception fanfics for her. Arthur/Eames. Nom nom.**


End file.
